


How My Heart Behaves

by thecarlysutra



Category: Thunderheart (1992)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-20
Updated: 2011-01-20
Packaged: 2017-10-14 22:18:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/154080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecarlysutra/pseuds/thecarlysutra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SUMMARY: My heart overfloods.<br/>AUTHOR’S NOTES: rarepair100 prompt #22: mad. Mundane Bingo prompts: sleeping in, going to the doctor's to have something swabbed/scraped/prodded/etc. not because there's anything wrong with it but because that's what's done for people of your age/sexual history/sex. Title from Feist. Summary from the Cardigans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How My Heart Behaves

  


> **mad [mad]** , mad·der, mad·dest  
>       **adjective** greatly provoked or irritated; angry. 

  
Friday night at the Bear Creek PD was such a grind, Ray found himself approaching the weekend with the dread most people reserved for Mondays. Beyond the usual shit of the week, there were so many DUI’s that the tiny tribal jail couldn’t hold them all. Unless they were chronic offenders, SOP had become pocketing their keys and driving them home to their wives, and having justice served that way.

Ray had already made four such deliveries, and the night was young. He caught a sedan weaving over the lines, and turned his roof lights on. The car coasted to a stop, mostly on the shoulder, and Ray approached the driver’s side window, which was being cranked down inch by shuddery inch.

Ray shined his flashlight in; the driver squinted. Kenny Jumping Bull. His folks ran the general store, and Kenny worked there stocking shelves, running the registers. He and Crow Horse were around the same age, but they weren’t exactly friends, and Ray knew him well enough to recognize him, and that was about it.

“License and registration, please.”

Kenny ground his head into the headrest and sighed, huffing out a puff of stale beer smell.

“Come on, you know me,” he said, his words stretched, slightly off track. “You’re Ray, enit? You go with Walter Crow Horse.”

“Right now I go with the police department,” Ray said. “License and registration.”

Kenny fumbled his wallet out of is pocket and into Ray’s waiting hand.

“You been drinking this evening, Mr. Jumping Bull?”

“It’s Friday night,” he said.

“Answer my question.”

Kenny turned his glassy eyes to Ray. “No, Officer. I never touch the stuff.”

Ray frowned. “Operating a motor vehicle under the influence of alcohol is a crime, Mr. Jumping Bull. It’s not safe; you were weaving all over the road back there. I’m going to have to write you a ticket and escort you home.”

Kenny groaned. “Come on, man. You know me; it’s Friday night. Can’t we just let this go?”

“You know Crow Horse,” Ray said. “He’ll have my ass if he hears I let you go with a warning.”

Kenny coughed out a harsh laugh. “Thought he already had your ass.”

Ray ground his teeth until he was composed enough to speak.

“Get out of the car,” he said.

“Come on, man—”

“Get out of the car.”

Kenny cursed and tripped out of the car. Ray waited until he was steady on his feet, and then motioned down the road with the beam of his flashlight.

“Walk ten yards, heel to toe. Move it.”

Ray crossed his arms over his chest and watched Kenny fail the sobriety test spectacular, taking a nosedive to the asphalt after only three steps. Ray pulled him to his feet, snapping handcuffs on him in the same movement.

Kenny cursed all the way to the backseat of Ray’s squad car, but Ray ignored him, and read him his rights.

***

The station was buzzing when Ray pulled in. He steered Kenny through George trying to calm down some D and D’s that hadn’t had all the fight scared out of them, to Terry working some criminal mischief kids through booking.

Crow Horse sidled up to the desk. He frowned at Ray’s scowl.

“What’s up your ass, _kola_?”

Kenny laughed, and Ray looked so irritated that Crow Horse let it go. He peeked over Ray’s shoulder to the booking paperwork.

“Whatcha got there, Ray?”

Ray was only half paying attention; he had to keep eyes on Kenny while starting the paperwork to put him in jail for the night. “DUI.”

Crow Horse’s brow rose. “You know the policy on that—”

Ray leveled such a hard look at him that the surprise and superiority slid right off Crow Horse’s face.

“I’m still allowed to arrest people, aren’t I?”

Crow Horse nodded slowly, brow creased with concern and confusion. “Sure, Ray.”

Kenny groaned as Ray started hauling him back to the cells. “Walter, man, come on. Can’t you get him to heel?”

Crow Horse laughed. “He don’t listen to me any better than he listens to you. You figure that one out, you let me know.”

 

>  **mad [mad]** , mad·der, mad·dest  
>       **adjective** mentally disturbed; insane. 

  
For the first time in his life, Ray had a partner as driven and focused as he was. It was good to have someone to keep up with, the same way racehorses got faster if they ran with a pace horse. But in addition to being hard workers, Ray and Crow Horse were evenly matched for stubbornness, and they were both competitive as hell, which meant leisure time took a hit.

It was Sunday, and their first day off in two weeks. Crow Horse’s body was conditioned to get up at five, and that’s when he woke. Thoughtlessly, he started out of bed.

Ray’s hand closed around his wrist. “Absolutely not.”

Crow Horse looked down at Ray—eyes still closed, muscles still limp with sleep—and then up at the glowing red beacon of the alarm clock. He got back in bed, settling his body along Ray’s. Ray didn’t relinquish his hold on Crow Horse’s arm, but he turned against him as he came back to bed, and slung his other arm around Crow Horse’s waist.

***

When Crow Horse woke again, it was almost ten—virtually unheard of. Ray’s side of the bed was occupied by Jimmy; Crow Horse shooed the damn dog back to the floor where it belonged, and was preparing to get up to find his partner when Ray and a tray entered the room.

“Absolutely not,” Ray said again, and again Crow Horse’s feet didn’t even make it to the floor.

Ray carefully balanced the tray—upon closer inspection, it was piled with breakfast foods—on the mattress, and climbed back in bed.

Crow Horse poured himself a cup of coffee, and arched an eyebrow at Ray.

“What’s gotten into you?”

Ray shrugged. “It’s my day off.”

They ate breakfast. Crow Horse read the paper, and Ray fed Jimmy the last of the toast while he thought Crow Horse wasn’t looking. Ray took the tray—full now of dirty dishes—back to the kitchen, and then pressed against Crow Horse’s shoulder until he let go of the paper long enough to slip an arm around Ray.

Ray drowsed—he had eaten too much; it was his day off—against Crow Horse’s chest. Mostly the black and white text rushed by his eyes like a complicated stitch on a quilt—interesting visually, but that was all—until an ad caught his attention.

“Fair’s coming to Rapid City,” he said.

“Hmm,” Crow Horse said, squinting over an article on more to-do over the damn Wilderness Act.

“Take me,” Ray said.

Crow Horse looked down from his paper. “What?”

Ray ran his tongue over his teeth, and pronounced each word like he was being graded on his diction. “Take me to the fair.”

“Why?”

Ray sighed. “Because our last real date was, let’s see—oh, that’s right, _never_ , and the sex and laundry isn’t free.”

“So you want me to pay you for sex now? That’s a crime, Ray.”

Ray sighed and wriggled out from Crow Horse’s embrace, slammed his head into his own pillow, back to Crow Horse.

“Forget it.”

“Hey. Don’t get so worked up. We’re having a conversation, here.”

“It ceases to be a conversation when you call me a whore.”

Crow Horse put the paper down; apparently he would not be finishing it.

“That ain’t what I said, and you know it’s not what I meant. Now quit being so touchy, and explain this to me.”

Ray turned to face him. “Explain what?”

“Why you wanna go to this thing.”

Ray’s brow creased.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I thought it would be fun.” Realization dawned on his face. “Bet fairs probably don’t make their way out to the rez, huh?”

“No.”

“Okay,” Ray said. “Well, it was something I used to do as a kid, something I remember fondly from childhood, and I’d like to go with you.”

“That’s all you had to say,” Crow Horse said, and bent over Ray to kiss him. “’Course I’ll take you.”

***

Ray was brought up in a certain way, instilled with certain values. Help those smaller and weaker than you. Respect your elders. You should always say please and thank you, and sex should always be unexciting, wholesome, and face-to-face in the dark.

Ray had never thought of a man like that before Walter, but it turned out it wasn’t the same sex issue that made him uncomfortable. It was the _sex_ sex issue. It wasn’t like Ray was some prude, or that he didn’t enjoy sex. He just enjoyed it in a discrete, dignified kind of way. Walter, though, like with everything else, was loud about it, enthusiastic.

“You gotta suck the marrow outta life, _kola_ ,” Walter said, and then clamped his hand over Ray’s mouth, drowning out his protests, and, soon enough, his moans.

They were in public, or just out of it, hidden in the shadows of the alley between the haunted house and the Tunnel of Love. The noise of the carnival raged around them, but Ray could barely hear it over his pulse throbbing in his ears; Ray’s heart beat fast as a rabbit’s. They were in public, they were going to get caught, someone would see them . . .

The crazy thing was, Walter had dragged him in here, and Walter had pressed him against the wall, and Walter had put his hand over Ray’s mouth and started unbuttoning Ray’s jeans, but Ray was only being held now by Walter’s palm weighing on his lips, his hand in his pants, and all he had to do was brush Walter off and walk away. But he didn’t. He rode out his terror until all he could feel was the good stuff, the same way he just waited out the pain when they fucked.

That was it, then. Walter made him crazy.

Ray staggered out of the alley twenty minutes later, flushed and mussed. Crow Horse trailed behind him, chuckling.

 

>  **mad [mad]** , mad·der, mad·dest  
>       **adjective** overcome by desire; excessively or uncontrollably fond; infatuated. 

  
It had taken months of playing the system, and—Ray suspected, but could not prove—Walter calling in favors and collecting debts at the tribal council, but IHS finally cleared Ray for enrollment. Newly insured, Ray went to the clinic to have the physical he was supposed to have a year ago when he had started working for the tribal PD.

Ray had been weighed and measured, poked and prodded, and was expecting to be told he could leave soon when the doctor rolled in a little machine on a stork-legged cart. It reminded Ray of a polygraph, and he frowned.

“What is this?”

The doctor looked up from unraveling wires. “Your chart says it’s been at least six months since your last EKG; is that correct?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever had one. There’s nothing wrong with my heart . . .”

The doctor began attaching leads to Ray’s chest. “We do this standard for IHS physicals. I’m going to check your blood sugar, too; as an American Indian, you’re at elevated risk for heart disease and diabetes.”

Ray grimaced. “Great.”

***

Ray sat in the passenger’s seat of Crow Horse’s squad car, fretting with the bandage on his fingertip. It’s not like the pinprick had hurt; it was all location. He stubbed it every ten seconds, and the other nine, he couldn’t leave it alone. It would have been better if they’d opened a vein.

“Did you know we’re at advanced risk for heart disease?” he asked.

Crow Horse looked over at him from the radar, which was fine, since they hadn’t had a car come past in almost twenty minutes.

“Sure,” he said. “And colon cancer, diabetes, and every other damn thing. Wouldn’ta happened if there were still buffalo around to eat. It’s this damn white sugar thing.”

Ray wasn’t sure he understood. “ _Wasi’chu_ sugar?”

Crow Horse chuckled. “That too. All that damn processed shit they got. Our bodies ain’t used to it yet. They’re puttin’ up a fight.”

“Maybe we should start eating better,” Ray said.

Crow Horse arched an eyebrow at him. “‘We,’ shit. Half the stuff you eat is classified as birdseed as it is. You mean _me_. Look, Ray, I love you, but you don’t wanna ask me to choose between you and cheeseburgers.”

Ray massaged the bridge of his nose. “I wasn’t—maybe we could start exercising more.”

“You mean _me_ again, Ray.”

“No, I—”

Crow Horse leveled a no nonsense glare at him over his Raybans. “How many miles you run this morning?”

Ray’s mouth worked uselessly for a moment.

“ _Raymond_.”

“Six.”

Crow Horse shook his head, and attended the radar again. Ray deflated, slouching down in his seat.

“Fine,” he said. “But if you die and leave me here all alone, I swear to God, I’m going to haunt you.” He frowned. “Or—or reverse haunt you. Fuck it; whatever you do to fuck up a ghost’s day, I’m doing it.”

Crow Horse goggled for a moment at Ray’s flustered face. Then he chuckled, and patted Ray’s shoulder.

“Settle down, there, Ray. You’re gonna burn through all your granola.”

***

Crow Horse suffered through a healthy dinner with very little griping. He hoped this was just a phase; like most living Indian things, he figured, Ray just needed to get used to it, integrate, and move on. Crow Horse just hoped it happened soon; he didn’t know how many more baked chicken breasts he could take. He’d tried to sneak some of his to Jimmy, and even the dog hadn’t wanted it. That had to tell you something.

Normally if one of them cooked and did the dishes, it meant that somebody was pissed about something, but this time it was more like an apology, a thank you. Crow Horse left Ray to do his thing in the kitchen, and relocated to the living room with a beer and the dog, wishing ruefully that he’d had the foresight to hide some candy bars in the couch cushions.

Ray came to join him, squeezing between Jimmy and Crow Horse. Ray was restless, which was fine when he was working, but sometimes impossible when he wasn’t. Getting him to settle down long enough to watch a little TV was a continuing problem, and tonight was no different. He made it fine through _60 Minutes_ , but couldn’t take more than a few minutes of _CHiPs_.

“The police work on this show is terrible,” Ray said.

Crow Horse shrugged. “I know that. It’s not a documentary, and I don’t watch it to pick up pointers.”

Ray laughed. Crow Horse looked at him like he was afraid Ray was losing his mind.

“What has gotten into you?”

“Nothing,” Ray said. “I was just thinking. You know, about why you watch this.” Crow Horse was quiet long enough that Ray went on. “It’s just—you know, aside from having sex with me, watching this show is the gayest thing you do.”

It didn’t happen often, but damn if Ray hadn’t caught Crow Horse speechless. Ray laughed, and he crawled over Walter’s lap, straddling him at the waist. Ray’s pelvis was flush against Walter’s, and he was looking down at him with those bright eyes, that lovely mouth curved into a grin. Walter’s mouth felt dry, suddenly, and the TV could have gone to late-breaking coverage of the world flying off its axis and into space, and it wouldn’t have affected Walter at all.

Ray put his hands on Walter’s shoulders—leverage—and then began to move in Walter’s lap, slowly rubbing his jean-clad erection against Walter’s.

“Do you wish I looked more like Ponch?” Ray murmured, his lips brushing Walter’s ear. “You know, you are my boss—if you want me in one of those uniforms, all you have to do is say so.”

Walter groaned. He put his hands on Ray’s hips, directed his movement. Ray was easily led, but then, he was starting to flush, his mouth parted to let out little pants.

Ray let Walter move him, Walter’s steady hands cradling his pelvis, his fingers digging into Ray’s ass. Walter’s tempo was more forceful, and they were getting there much more quickly than they would have with Ray’s delicate, teasing touch. Which was fine, great, wonderful, it was just that Ray hadn’t exactly had time to catch his breath, and he was getting dizzy as the waves of lust swept over him. He was going to come too fast, and it wasn’t going to be pretty—he was flushed and sweating, and in a second, he was going to start whimpering.

There he went. A small, rent noise tore from Ray’s throat. Ray felt his cheeks heat even more, but Walter just took a hand from Ray’s hip and used it to cup his cheek, and he whispered some soft, horse taming noises.

“Easy. Come on, _kola_. Easy.”

And when Ray came, loud and too soon, like some love drunk kid, Walter pulled Ray against his chest, his arm a steel band holding him tight in place.

Ray’s heart skipped a beat and then reverberated back like a jackhammer, a throb so heavy and hard that Ray could not feel anything else, only his heart overflooding.

Walter’s eyes were on Ray, his thumb drifting dreamily over Ray’s lips.

“You okay?” he asked.

Ray rested a shaky hand over his sternum. “I think I’m having a heart attack.”

There was just time enough for Walter’s expression to turn to panic, and then reason caught up with Ray, slamming the lust logic out of his mind. He leaned into Walter’s touch.

“Never mind,” Ray said softly. “It’s just you.”

Walter’s brow rose. “I’m giving you a heart attack?”

“Yeah,” Ray said vaguely. Then he heard himself, and added, “I mean, no. It just—sometimes you’re a little much for my heart to handle.”

“Is that you trying to say you love me?”

Ray blushed some more, but that was okay, because it was only Walter seeing him.

“Yeah,” he said.

Walter kissed him. “Dunno why you got so worked up. That’s all you had to say.”  



End file.
